Happy Ground Pope Day!

Good news! The Pope saw his shadow this morning. There will be six more weeks of the papacy.

His Holy High-Hattedness™ checked into a Rome hospital last night with shortness of breath and flu-like symptoms. That was very disparaging to me. You see, Pope-amodo is supposed to be God’s messenger here on Earth. You would think God would take time to make sure his oracle is in pretty good shape, sort of like changing the oil on your old hatchback.

It’s understandable though, this time of the year. It’s Super Bowl week. That means God is busy taking care of all those football players who he helps to make big plays and win big games. Hell, a nasty little bout of shortened breath can slip by when you are working on Terrell Owen’s leg.

Remember 1981? The Eagles (God’s Team™?) were involved again. He had to help the players through the thought of playing a Super Bowl where Dick Vermeil could cry at any second. Many players had to sober up from a night in the French Quarter. A lot of work was needed by God. God was tired. Come May, the Pope got blasted by a Turkish assassin. Now, he has to be the Pope in the Bullet Proof Bubble™ whenever he goes out. He never saw it coming.

Of course, he doesn’t see much these days except for his shoes and his frequent painful urinations. All the Big Hat wearing has caused him to slump over like a folding chair in Kirstie Alley™’s house. Maybe God is shopping around for a new model. Something hipper. More sexy. Something with better gas mileage. Something upright.